Neither Pure nor Simple
by Incarnadine
Summary: Hermione's finally had enough. Can Blaise persuade her to stay, or has it gone too far for her to ever forgive him? A backlash against BlaiseHermione fluff.


**Disclaimer 1: None of these characters are mine. I'm just borrowing them. The plot's mine. The words are mine. I think the ideas are mine, but I won't swear to it. Anything you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. Most of the rest belongs to me, but naturally I won't be making any money out of it any time soon.**

**Disclaimer 2: OK, I apologise in advance to all Blaise/Hermione shippers. I got an overload of the wonderful work of the people on the HMS Overworked + Underappreciated on FA, and decided that since I couldn't do what they did better than them, I'd do something different. Don't blame me for the ensuing mess. It wasn't my fault. It's all Blaise. That rascal. I swear he writes my stuff while I'm not looking.**

**Neither Pure nor Simple**

"_**The truth is rarely pure and never simple"**_

_Oscar Wilde (The Importance of Being Earnest)_

"For what it's worth, I knew what you were when I married you, Zabini," she hissed, still throwing her clothes haphazardly into the trunk. "I just hadn't quite realised that I knew it."

Blaise cursed. He knew her better than anyone else, and he knew that when she stopped making sense, he was really in trouble. Also, she had just used his last name. She hadn't called him _Zabini _in six years.

But he didn't need to listen to her to know that he was in trouble. He had known that already. The furious look in her usually mild brown eyes was definitely a clue. The almost frantic speed at which she was packing was another. He had really messed up here. This was going to take some serious fixing. He had no doubt that eventually his charm would win her around, but he didn't know if he could be bothered to make the effort.

There. That was the problem. He just didn't know if he cared enough any more. He wasn't so sure that she was worth that much to him any more. He should never have married her. He felt shocked to the core that he had even thought that, but somewhere in his heart, he knew it to be true. He should never have married her. It wasn't fair on either of them.

"What is that, then?" he asked, coldly. He wasn't going to beg her to stay. He had done far too much of that in four years of marriage, and he was finally sick of it. Either she really meant to leave, in which case it was pointless to try and stop her, whether he wanted to or not, or she was making this scene for attention. If that was true, then she had misjudged her man, and was in for a rather nasty shock.

She didn't seem overly bothered by the harshness in his voice or the coldness of his blue eyes. That could only mean that she was serious about this. She was really leaving him. He didn't care about her answer to his question. There was only one question that mattered to him: did he still love her? He didn't know any more. There was a time, not so very long ago, where he would be barricading all of the doors by magic to stop her from getting out of the flat. There was a time when she was everything to him, when he could not imagine life without her. That time was gone.

"You know very well," she said, viciously, dumping her books into the case abruptly. Blaise had never seen her mistreat books before. They meant more to her than anything in the world, even him. Was that _jealousy_ he was feeling? How could that be, since he had decided that he no longer really cared for the curly haired Mud- no, even now he could not bring himself to say the word. Even if he didn't love her, he had once. And he had never agreed with those labels anyway.

"Tell me." He didn't know why he was doing this. So much simpler to let her leave, storm out of his life and never come back. If she truly meant nothing to him, why couldn't he let her go? Was he suddenly masochistic?

"Fine." She stopped packing and turned to face him, her hands on her hips, her face stuck in a mulish and almost spiteful expression. If it were not too ridiculous, he would've thought that she was _enjoying_ herself. He had never known her be vindictive. But then, she had never had such provocation before. They had argued, sometimes quite savagely, and she had threatened to leave many times before, sometimes even packing, but she had never truly _wanted _to leave as much as she did now. He knew that, and he knew why. He braced himself, ready to listen to her say the words he really didn't want to hear.

"Do you _really _need me to say it, Zabini?" she snapped. Her eyes flashed dangerously. She slowly counted off the points on her fingers, staring directly at him, her gaze burning a hole in his guilty soul. "Okay. One: you're a liar. If you've told me the truth even once in this relationship I will be very surprised. Two: you're immature. Don't gape like that, Zabini; brains don't stop you from being an overgrown spoilt brat. Three: you're untrustworthy. I should have listened to Harry and Ron." When she said her dead friends' names a look of almost pathetic misery descended on her features, and he caught himself almost feeling sorry for her.

"Did they tell you never to trust a slimy Slytherin?" snarled Blaise. He hadn't meant to antagonise her further, but he didn't seem to be in control of himself any more. He felt angry. It was the sort of anger that only the truly guilty can feel: a sort of self-justifying, blustering rage. If he thought about this the right way, it could all be her fault, not his. Her fault, because she had been so cold to him recently. She had driven him to it.

"Yes, actually." She wiped tears from her eyes. Blaise knew better than to think that they were for him, for their relationship. She was still mourning Potter and Weasley. He had never been able to compete. She had been tied to a memory for longer than they'd been married. "They told me you'd be no good for me, and they were right." He stared at her, slack-jawed. Of course those two would say that! They hated all members of the green and silver house, regardless of who that person was.

She remembered her list, and continued, "Four: you're a heartbreaker. I hate to admit it, but you've broken mine. I should've known it would end like this, what with the trail of broken hearts that follows you wherever you go." He flinched when he heard the word 'end'. So it was over. There could be no appeal. She said, "Five," and then she broke down. He didn't move. The last thing she wanted now was his hands on her.

Eventually she lifted her head and stared deep through the azure eyes and said levelly, "Five: she was my friend, Blaise." And she could say no more. She didn't trust herself to say any more. If she tried to speak she would either cry or curse him.

So it had come to that. Of course, it was always going to. He had been a fool to think he could get away with it. Sneaking around had always been his forte at school; he had managed to leave with only a select few even knowing his name. Most of them, as Granger – oh gods, he was starting to call her that now, he really was going back in time now – as _Hermione_ had reminded him, were girls who had every reason to hate him. None of them had felt the need to kiss and tell. None of them had been consumed with guilt. He had never imagined that his wife would find out. He had never thought that the stupid girl would actually _tell_ her.

He realised something then. She had just called him _Blaise_. If she was softening, maybe she would change her mind. Maybe he could make her stop. The thought surprised him. Hadn't he just decided he no longer loved her? Why was he still thinking like this? Why wouldn't the bloody woman just hurry up and _leave_? She was looking at him reproachfully now, and he didn't think he could bear it. He was confused. He had no idea what he really wanted, but he knew that if he let her go she would never come back. And he would never be able to change his mind.

He took a deep breath. "Is this… is it _final_, Hermione?" he asked, tentatively.

She spun round to look at him. "What do you think, Zabini?" she snapped. "I'm not a fool. I'll never be able to forget what you've done. It'll be between us forever." Looking at his shattered expression, she said, "Didn't you expect that, Zabini? Does the truth hurt? You betrayed me. You must have known what I would do if I found out. I'm not some little simple woman who'll sit at home while you're out doing as many women as you can get your hands on. She wasn't the first, I know that, and if I stay, she won't be the last. So let me go."

She had finally finished packing the trunk and she glowered at him when he went to block her exit. "You don't care enough, Zabini," she growled. And the words cut him to the heart because they were true. Or he thought they were true. The truth was not such a cut and dried thing as he had thought. He had less than a minute left with her, and he still didn't know what he wanted to do. So much easier to let her walk away. But could he live without her? He just looked at his wife as if he had never seen her before. She had a strange light in her eyes. Surely it couldn't be hatred? It couldn't have come that far, could it?

"Please, Hermione." He was _begging_ now. He hated himself for it. He didn't want her last impression of him to be the spineless, pathetic man he seemed to have become. More than anything, he didn't want it to be her last impression. Everything slotted into place. He didn't want her to leave! He had never really wanted her to leave. "I can change. I'll never do it again; I'll never hurt you again. Just don't go."

She just sneered. He had never thought to see such a Malfoy-like expression on her face – she who had killed the silver haired boy without remorse or hesitation – and he felt lost and almost afraid. He realised how little he knew the woman who stood before him. She was not the girl he had married. Something – probably being married to him, part of his brain told him, treacherously – had made her bitter. She was a more vicious fighter today than the day that she and her friends had battled with the Dark Lord. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought that she might hate him just as much as she had hated Lord Voldemort.

"Empty promises, Zabini," she sighed, almost as if she were sorry. "You can't change. You never will. I pity the next Mrs Zabini, and any other woman who comes into contact with you. Don't say anything. I don't want to hear it. I'm leaving now. If you try to stop me I will hex you so badly that you'll never chase a woman again." She meant it. There was ice and steel in her voice. Blaise collapsed to the sofa and let her pass. She didn't look back once. She didn't even turn in the doorway to fire a sharp and sarcastic parting shot before she slammed the door. It was almost as if she had decided that he wasn't worth the effort.


End file.
